


Possunt Quia Posse Videntur

by HannahPelham



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, WW2 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:19:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19319002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahPelham/pseuds/HannahPelham
Summary: Squadron Leader Herbert 'Bertie' Pelham, Marquess of Hexham , is shot down in the Battle of Britain. He is sent to Downton Abbey to recover, and there he meets Lady Edith Crawley, who is working as a Nurse. They fall head over heels in love, but the war will insist on getting in the way.





	Possunt Quia Posse Videntur

_ Possunt quia posse videntur  _

 

_ They can because they think they can  _

 

_ Motto of No. XIX Squadron, RAF _

 

When Lady Edith Crawley, middle daughter of the Earl and Countess of Grantham, trained as a Nurse at the beginning of the Second World War, she had only expected to nurse the casualties. She hadn’t expected to fall in love with one of them. 

 

Her mother, Cora, Countess of Grantham, had nursed troops at Downton Abbey during the first world war, when Edith was just a child. She hardly remembered it. All she remembered was her mother running around like a madwoman trying to be mother to three young daughters, in a house overrun by Soldiers and Sailors. 

 

Her father, Robert, Earl of Grantham, was Honorary Colonel of the North Riding Volunteers, and so spent most of the war attending events in that capacity, having fought in the Boer Wars, and retired from the military at the turn of the century. 

 

1940 had been a tough year for Edith, and it was only halfway through. Earlier in the year, her younger sister Sybil had died in childbirth, and the family had been plunged into mourning. Nevertheless, they soldiered through to do their bit for the country - in wartime everybody was grieving, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

 

She’d heard about the aerial battles taking place over southern England. Britain versus Germany. Spitfire versus Messerschmidt. They’d been in the papers, and there’d been talk of them, but it all became much more real when injured airmen were sent to Downton Abbey to recover. 

 

The day Squadron Leader Herbert ‘Bertie’ Pelham, Marquess of Hexham arrived at Downton Abbey proved to be a turning point in Edith’s life. He seemed unassuming enough when he arrived, wheeled in by one of the other nurses, and found a bed in one of the main rooms being used. He had a large shrapnel wound on his leg from the crash, which was not healing as quickly as he or the brass hats at the RAF would have liked. Her mother had made sure they’d been introduced quickly. A Marquess would be a very sensible match for Edith, it would give her rank and money. 

 

“Edith dear, this is Lord Hexham” Cora said as she practically dragged her middle daughter over towards the bed, “Lord Hexham, my daughter Lady Edith-sorry, Nurse Crawley”

 

Bertie looked up from his book, and his breath was practically taken away by the young woman standing in front of him. 

 

“Nurse Crawley” He smiled, quickly marking his page and putting his book down. 

 

“Lord Hexham-” Edith started, reaching out to shake his hand. 

 

“Squadron Leader Pelham” He interrupted, “or Bertie, if you’re allowed”

 

“It’s lovely to meet you Squadron Leader Pelham” Edith replied, taking a seat next to his bed. She looked at his documents quickly, and it was time to change his dressing. Bertie soon realised what she was about to do. 

 

“Is this going to hurt, Nurse?” He asked, looking at her worriedly. 

 

“I’m afraid so, Bertie” She replied, soaking some gauze in rubbing alcohol, before she carefully peeled his dressing back and cleaned his wound. Bertie squeezed the bed sheets tightly, and his face screwed up in pain. Edith replaced the dressing, and stuck it down. 

 

“All finished, well done” She said as she stood up, disposing of the used dressing. 

 

“How’s it doing?” Bertie asked. He wanted to be back flying, of course, but if convalescing at Downton meant being around Edith, he didn’t mind being stuck there at all. 

 

“Not too badly, but as the doctors said to you, it’s not going quite as quickly as they’d like” She replied, “Shrapnel wounds are often funny like that”. 

 

They smiled at each other sadly. They’d have liked to have met in any other situation than this. As she walked away to change more dressings, Bertie filled Edith’s mind. She imagined meeting him in London before the war, at a society party, or at the Ritz. She’d be in her best frock, her styled perfectly, and he’d be in tails or a perfectly cut three piece suit. They’d waltz around the room and drink champagne and he’d walk her home, maybe even kissing her at the end of the night. 

 

Kissing her?

 

Edith didn’t think she’d ever felt this strongly about somebody so quickly before. There was something about Bertie that had taken her over immediately. Something that had endeared him to her. 

 

As Bertie watched Edith walk away, he wanted to call after her, make her come back. He wanted to talk to her forever. He wanted to be around her forever. Was it love at first sight? Perhaps, he thought. 

 

That evening, sat in the drawing room with her parents, sister Mary, and Mary’s husband Matthew, Edith could think of nothing but Bertie. Mary was going on about something or other to do with the estate and what they’d be able to manage with new wartime ruling, and all Edith could think about was Bertie. He was only in the other room. Nobody would notice her sneak out. She thought about it, she seriously considered it, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it. Not quite yet. 

 

As she went to bed, she passed the door of the ward, and caught a glimpse of Bertie. He looked 10 years younger when he was asleep, the worries of the war, his injury, and his life as Marquess gone for a while. 

 

Edith did her rounds at record speed the next morning. The quicker it was done, the quicker she could go and talk to Bertie. She found him sat outside in a wheelchair, a blanket over his knees as he soaked up the summer sun. His book lay on his lap, unopened. Edith pulled up a chair and sat next to him. 

 

“You don’t mind, do you Lord Hexham?” She asked, leaning over to look at the cover of his book. 

 

“I don’t mind at all” He replied, handing it to her so she could get a better look, “and I’ve told you Nurse Crawley, Bertie, or at worst Squadron Leader Pelham”. Edith smiled. She felt so comfortable around him, and she couldn’t work out why. She was a shy creature really, as middle sisters tend to be. Bertie seemed to see that, and he seemed to respect it. 

 

“I’ll lend you that book when I’m finished, if you like” He said, looking out at Downton’s vast grounds. 

 

“That’d be lovely,” Edith replied, looking at him, “and you’re welcome to borrow anything from Downton’s library”

 

“You’re most kind, Nurse Crawley” He said, after a moment or two. He looked at her, and thought her the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, even in her nurse’s uniform. 

 

“Edith, and you’re welcome” She replied, taking in his facial features properly for the first time. You couldn’t say he was handsome in the conventional ways. He didn’t look like a movie star. He didn’t have a David Niven moustache, but his face had charm and character. It was perfect for him. A gentle man with a gentle face. Edith could hardly imagine him firing guns and dropping bombs in anger in battle. 

 

“Downton has wonderful grounds” Bertie commented, leaning forward to look around. 

 

“It does” Edith replied, wondering if she could be bold enough as to take him for a quick tour of the grounds, “though I’m sure you have some fantastic ones of your own at Brancaster”.

 

“I do, though I haven’t seen them since I became Marquess”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“The last Marquess, my third cousin Peter, was killed in North Africa in early March” Bertie explained. 

 

“I’m so sorry” Edith replied quickly, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. 

 

“I was rather fond of him, really” Bertie said sadly, “I was his agent at Brancaster before he died”. Edith didn’t know what to say, how to comfort him. She wanted to say the right thing to make him feel better, but she couldn’t think of the words. Instead, she took his hand and held it tight. 

 

Bertie thought his heart might beat out of his chest. He didn’t know what to do. He squeezed her hand back gently, and they sat there in contented quiet, hoping nobody would see. This was their moment, and neither of them wanted it to end. 

 

Somebody did see, however. These moments never go as we’d like. Mary watched out of her bedroom window as Edith had her moment with Bertie. She knew Matthew wouldn’t approve of her snooping. Matthew, Mary’s husband and the heir of the estate, never understood what the two sisters had against each other. He thought they may have been closer since Sybil’s death, but nothing of the sort. Edith saw Mary as cold and calculating, and Mary saw Edith as boring and plain. They had nothing in common, except their family. 

 

The next few weeks were spent in quite a similar fashion. Edith would do her rounds, change Bertie’s dressing (his leg was improving with each day), and then they’d sit outside in the sunshine, or inside if it was raining, and talk about books, music, film, politics, everything and anything. It cheered both of them up no end. Bertie felt so much better for talking to Edith, and Edith was glad she had somebody to talk to for a change. 

 

“Will you write to me?” Edith asked one afternoon, “after you leave, I mean”. 

 

“Did you really think I’d leave and that would be the end of it?” Bertie replied, looking at Edith with nothing except complete adoration. 

 

“Well, I didn’t want to assume” Edith stuttered, trying to work out what she wanted to say, “I didn’t know if you had somebody elsewhere, that’s all”. 

 

Bertie didn’t say a word, he just leant forward and pressed a quick but passionate kiss to Edith’s lips. 

 

“If I had somebody somewhere else, would I do that?”

 

The day Bertie left was hard on Edith, but she didn’t make a fuss. She met him on the lawn after dinner, the night before. He was leaving early in the morning, and he would be long done by the time she was woken by her maid for breakfast. 

 

“It astounds me that the old traditions of dressing for dinner and so on go on whilst a war rages on” Bertie said as she approached, wearing a knee length dress and quite a considerable amount of jewellery. 

 

“Good old England, eh?” Edith replied, taking his outstretched hand. They stood there for a while, neither saying anything, fearing it would break them from this glorious moment. Just the two of them, staring into the night sky with apparently not a care in the world. 

 

“I’m going to miss you, Bertie” Edith eventually said, so quietly Bertie hardly heard it. 

 

“I’m going to miss you too Edith” Bertie replied, “I’ll come and visit when I get some leave”

 

“But what about Brancaster? Surely you have important things to do on the estate” She protested. She knew very little about the running of estates, that was her father’s and Mary and Matthew’s job, not hers. 

 

“You are the most important thing in my life, Lady Edith Crawley” Bertie quickly replied, kissing her passionately, “never forget that”. Edith kissed him back quickly, her arm around his waist to pull him closer. They parted, and Edith realised she was going to have to go to bed, and she was going to have to say goodbye to Bertie, potentially forever. 

 

She couldn’t think of anything to say. A tear or two escaped her eyes, and Bertie quickly brushed them away. 

 

“Let’s not say goodbye” Bertie whispered. 

 

“No, feels so final” Edith replied. 

 

“All I will say Edith, is that I love you” He said, leaning in to kiss her one last time. 

 

“I love you too Bertie, I really do” She replied, her lips brushing his. She squeezed his hand, and then made her way inside, looking back once to see Bertie stood still, a tear sliding down his cheek. 

 

When Edith reached her bedroom, she found her mother sat on her bed. She sat down next to her, and burst into tears. 

 

“He told me he loves me, Mama” she managed to get out, blowing her nose into a handkerchief offered by her mother. 

 

“That’s wonderful, darling, isn’t it?”

 

“It’s beyond perfect” Edith sniffed, “but what if something happens to him? What if he gets shot down over enemy territory, or over the sea?” 

 

“What if never got anybody anywhere, darling” Cora replied, pulling her daughter closer. Edith nodded, and leant into her mother’s embrace. She didn’t know what she was going to do without Bertie, but she was about to find out.

 

The first few weeks after Bertie returned to action were eventful. He wrote letters to her almost every day, and she replied with equal enthusiasm. She worked, of course, changing dressings and filling in paperwork. It was punctuated with Mary and Matthew announcing that they were expecting a baby (“Reckless, in wartime” their grandmother Violet had commented to Edith in a letter). The news distracted Edith momentarily, though not for long, due to her and Mary’s lack of relationship. Soon, she was back to missing Bertie. 

 

She checked the casualty lists every day, hoping she wouldn’t see his name. She listened to news bulletins on the radio, followed the battles in the newspaper. She just had to know he was alright. As long as she was getting letters from him, she knew he was okay. 

 

Everything was fine, and carried on as normal, until Mary had the baby. She had a beautiful little boy in April 1941, George, but chaos rained that day. Matthew was away in the Army, fighting on the front line in France. The day Mary gave birth to their son, in line to inherit Downton Abbey and the Earldom of Grantham, the letter arrived from the War Office. The letter. The letter absolutely nobody wanted to receive. The letter telling Lady Mary Crawley that sadly her husband, Captain Matthew Crawley, had been killed in action three days previously. It was not the news anybody wanted to receive just hours after George had been born. 

 

The house plunged into mourning, Edith included. Whilst she didn’t get on with Mary, she’d always been fond of Matthew. She’d written to Bertie, telling him about George’s birth and Matthew’s death. He’d replied with congratulations and sympathy in equal measure. He tried to get some leave for the funeral, but to no avail. He’d moved over to Bomber, flying in Lancaster Bombers rather than Spitfires, and there was no time to be going up to Yorkshire, funeral, christening, or otherwise. 

 

The funeral, the christening, and the family mourning came and went. Bertie and Edith wrote to each other every day, writing pages and pages to each other. Edith was desperate to see Bertie, and he to see her. He had a plan for the next time he did. 

 

He got some leave three months after Matthew’s death, and his first thought was not to go to Brancaster, but to go and see Edith. He contemplated telling her, but thought a surprise would be more romantic. Edith was all Bertie thought about. Day and night, Edith filled Bertie’s mind. He was desperately in love with her, he was so in love with her he hardly knew what to do with himself most of the time. All he wanted from life was to survive the war, and for Edith to be his wife. 

 

He arrived at Downton Abbey to find Edith sat on the lawn, on her own, enjoying the spring sunshine. He walked over to her, trying not to scare her. He could scarcely believe he was back there with her. 

 

“Edith, darling” He said as he approached. Edith turned around, and could hardly believe what she was seeing. Her Bertie was really there. 

 

“Bertie” she whispered, “You’re really here?”. Bertie nodded, helping Edith up off the ground. 

 

“Edith, my darling” Bertie started, reaching into his pocket, “I have something to ask you”. Edith’s breath caught in her throat. She thought she knew what was coming. 

 

“Bertie…”

 

“Lady Edith Crawley, I have been unable to think about anybody other than you since I met you last summer, you have taken over my heart and soul, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. Will you marry me?” Bertie asked, down on one knee, a sapphire and diamond ring in a box in his hand. 

 

“Yes, a thousand times yes!” Edith replied. She hardly knew she’d said it. Before she knew it, Bertie was slipping the ring onto her finger and his lips were on hers. Edith had never been happier, and it was because of Bertie. She knew her family would be thrilled. A Marquess would be a very good match indeed for the daughter of an Earl. Mary would be furious, who had always expected to be the highest ranking sister. Sybil had married the former Chauffeur in Tom Branson, Mary was going to be the Countess of Grantham until Matthew’s death, and now Edith was going to outrank them all as Marchioness of Hexham. 

 

“Lord Grantham, I realise I should have come to you for permission first, but I finally received some leave and I couldn’t bear it any longer” Bertie explained as he sat in the library with the Earl.

 

“Lord Hexham” Robert replied, it feeling odd to him that the younger man outranked him, “If you think I would ever protest my middle daughter marrying a Marquess then you are quite mistaken. Will you marry at Brancaster or here at Downton?”

 

“Downton, I expect” Bertie said, wondering what Edith’s preference would be, “or whatever Edith wants. It’ll have to be quick, I expect. Leave is hard to come by these days”. 

 

Edith and Bertie married two weeks later at St Michael and All Angel’s Church in Downton village. Bertie returned to service the next day, and hardly came back until the end of the war. Mary had ill-fated affairs with Anthony Foyle, Viscount Gillingham, Charles Blake, and Evelyn Napier before she settled down with racing driver Henry Talbot. 

 

After VE Day, and Mary’s wedding in August 1945, Bertie and Edith moved to Brancaster Castle, and lived happily ever after. 


End file.
